


Up Shytt Creek

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 20:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: A really bad, really terrible, really awful BAD MSR fic set down under.





	1. Chapter 1

The aircon was on the blink again and Skinner paced the sticky floor, huffing.  
“Would you just sit still,” Mulder said.  
“There’s more air in a dead kangaroo. I reckon more people die from heatstroke indoors in this town. Fucken fan only shifts the hot air from one side to the other. Ah, here comes the doc.”  
Mulder tried to look over his shoulder but all he caught was the small feet. Small feet, small…  
“Mr Mulder. I’m Dana Scully, you’ve been assigned as a patient to me.”  
Skinner snickered. “If I’d have known the doc was a Sheila I’d have worn me cleaner shirt.”  
“You don’t have a cleaner shirt,” Mulder said, eyeing the short redhead in front of him, ill-fitting white coat, clipboard in her small hands so he couldn’t see the size of her…  
“It says here you’ve been suffering from a rash. I’ll take a look.” She put the clipboard down and stood at his side. “If you could just slip your pants down.”  
Skinner erupted and Mulder lifted his backside up to unbutton his fly. “Need a hand, Mulder?”  
“Haven’t you got somewhere else to be, Skinner? Like back at the station organising the rosters?”  
Dr Scully looked up. “You’re Walter Skinner, from Skinner’s Run?”  
Mulder could hear Skinner’s chest puff. “I am. The biggest cattle station in Shytt Creek.”  
Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxer’s and she yanked them down, “and how long have you been partners, Mr Mulder? Oh my…that’s…quite impressive.”  
Air hissed out of Skinner like a tourist in a croc-infested billabong. “He’s my best jackeroo, not my fucken boyfriend.”  
“So why are you in here, Mr Skinner? Perhaps you could wait outside.”  
Mulder twisted his face to watch the exchange. Skinner pushed his glasses up his sweaty nose and shrugged. “Make sure you fix him up. I don’t care if you bandage him up, plunge him holy water or give him laser surgery, I need him back in that saddle quick-smart.” He slammed the door and the fan stopped whirring.  
“There’s more air in my thirty year old bike’s tyres,” Mulder grumbled, then flinched as she prodded him.  
“Have you ever seen anything like this, Dr Scully?”  
“This is the worst case of saddle sores I’ve ever seen. The size of the mounds, it’s unbelievable.”  
“Saddle sores? I’ve been riding horses forever. This is something more sinister than saddle sores.”  
She pinched his skin and tutted. “What are you saying? That these are alien love bites or Reticulan branding marks or something? I’ve heard the locals talk about lights and strange noises and disappearing cows. My theory is that you’re all too fond of the amber nectar and your personal hygiene standards are poor. I can prescribe you some antibiotics to counter the infection and some anti-inflammatory cream to rub in to the skin to reduce the swelling. But the best thing you can do is to shower twice a day and make sure you dry your bottom and genitalia thoroughly. Here, I’ll get you started.”  
Before he could protest, she was washing and drying him and massaging the soothing ointment into his buttocks and he couldn’t help but relax into the bed and close his eyes. She certainly had the healing touch, and he allowed himself a brief image of her naked and riding him, titties bobbing in time to his thrusts and that pretty mouth falling open with his name on her lips. He groaned.  
“It’s okay, Mr Mulder. I’m a medical doctor and you’re just responding to the stimulus of my touch. It happens all the time. I’ll let you get dressed while I write your script.”  
The swelling took a few days to subside and he finally felt able to do a good day’s hard yakka, only breaking for a soothing dip in the creek to soothe the skin when the sweat got too much. He left his clothes on the bank and waded in, thigh deep, holding an overhead branch as he lowered himself tentatively into the cool stream.  
“Guess you’ve been caught up Shytt Creek without a paddle, Mr Mulder,” she said. She was holding his clothes and laughing like a kookaburra swooping bush rats.  
He stood up, facing her and her laugh stopped mid-breath. “Well, that’s certainly one for the medical record books.” She stepped forward and before he could say ‘strewth, mate’ she was stripping off and wading into the water. “That is the biggest…”  
“It’s good to know that the carpet matches the drapes,” he said, letting his eyes wander over her panties where the line of pubic hair was just visible. He felt himself harden even more. The look on her face was awe and wonder and she ran her tongue around her lips before putting her hand on his hip.  
“…leech I’ve ever seen,” she pulled it off and held it up. “Look at the size of this thing. What a beauty.”  
He’d never shrunk so quickly in his life. Heat burned on his cheeks and he clutched his hands in front of him.  
“It’s okay, Mr Mulder. I’ve seen it all before. But,” she said, smiling, “yours is pretty. It’s just the right combination of length and girth. And I do like a roundhead. Much neater. Can I take at your sores? This is the best part of being a locum in the outback. The house calls are always much more interesting. Turn around.”  
He did as she asked and let her hands wander over his backside again. Her warm fingers against his cold skin was too much and he couldn’t control his arousal. She had to have noticed but she carried on pressing and prodding.  
“Does it hurt?”  
He looked down at his tumescence, straining against his palms. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”  
“And I’d say the swelling has decreased.”  
“Not really,” he muttered, shifting on his feet.  
“Oh? It was bigger than this, was it? I don’t recall.”  
“Well, I have an eidetic memory, so…”  
“Right, well,” she said, “you seem to be doing everything just right. Keep it up.” He tried not to chuckle too hard. But the smile was wiped off his face when she said. “I’m leaving in the morning. It’s up to you to save the world from the aliens here.”  
She turned to walk away but he grabbed her arm. “In case we never meet again,” and he kissed her, as deeply and as passionately as he dared. She stepped back, face like thunder. Then landed a right hook on his cheek before storming up the bank and pulling on her clothes.  
“I was expecting a left,” he yelled.  
The beer was cold, the women colder and he was just not in the mood. He walked back up the track, feeling the mild chafe of his jeans against his butt. He hadn’t been able to shake the picture of Dr Dana Scully MD wading into the creek in her underwear, of her gentle touch, of her wide blue eyes.  
“What’s a nice jackeroo like you doing in a dive like this?” Her voice was like an angel singing and he turned to see her behind the wheel of an old beaten up ute. “Wanna lift?”  
He climbed in and she gave him a bottle of VB. “Traveller for you.” She swigged from hers.  
“You’re drinking and driving?” He opened the lid and swallowed the golden liquid, cuffing it from his mouth.  
“I won’t tell if you don’t. I’m going home to watch a movie. Want to join me?”  
“So that you can check up on my wounds? Or so you can hit me again?”  
“You know what I like,” she said, shoving a movie into his lap.  
“Caddyshack? This date is getting better all the time.”  
She laughed. “It’s a classic.”  
“And how do you like your popcorn, Dr Scully?”  
“Salted and buttered. There’s no other way.”  
“True blue Aussie, mate.” He chinked the neck of his bottle against hers and let the rest of the beer fizz in his veins.  
By the end credits, she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder and he sat and stared at her flickering television for what seemed like hours. He shifted, conscious of the stinging sensation in his backside, and she groaned.  
“You drooled on me,” he said as she lifted her head.  
“Sorry,” she said quietly and he had the urge to kiss her again. “Are you sore?”  
“Not really,” he lied. “I’d better be going.”  
“Let me look, Mr Mulder. I’ve got my bag right here.”  
“I think I’d better get home.” Before he could stand up, she was dangling a pair of handcuffs in front of his face and shaking her head.  
“You’re not going anywhere.” She snapped the bracelets on and pushed him down. “I’ve never met anybody like you, Mr Mulder. You’re the most intense and challenging person I’ve ever met. And quite honestly, the most impossible. But I have to know what you taste like.”  
He leant back, the chink of his chains like the most melodious of magpies warbling. “If you’re going to tell me you went to Catholic school and learnt how to truly pleasure a man with your mouth, I think I might just explode right now.”  
She licked her way down his chest and said, “you must be psychic, Mr Mulder. This dialogue is like deja-vu. Like we’re in some kind of terrible fanfic written for an American 90s sci-fi show where the two main characters spend years longing for each other but never doing anything about it. Do you believe in slow burn, Mr Mulder?”  
Swirling her tongue around his tip, he gasped. “Can we drop the Mr? I’m not your patient anymore. And yes, slow burn has its place, but tonight I just want to fuck you so hard that you’ll think that saddle sores are like paper cuts.”  
“Sounds out of this world.” She took his full length and hummed around him, pumping and sucking and biting and swallowing.  
He shot his hot cum into her mouth with an explosive groan. “Fuck me,” he yelled. “This is extraterrestrial.” When he could speak again, he waggled his eyebrows. “Do you think I’m spooky?”  
She laughed and straddled him. “Depends on your refractory period.”  
It didn’t take long for him to break his own record and she bounced on top of him, in control.  
“How do you feel, Scully?”  
She smiled as she shuddered, pulling his cuffed hands to her tits as she came. “I’m fairly happy.”


	2. TimTams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still really, really BAD MSR.

There was a missed call from Scully. Even seeing her name on the screen got him hard. He sighed as he dialled, shooing a pair of fat blowies from his steak defrosting on the bench. The smell of the barbie wafted under his nose and he scratched the dry skin on his arse. Fucking scabs itched like hell in the heat.  
“Mulder, I just had something incredibly strange happen. This piece of metal I just pulled out of Skinner’s leg, it has some kind of code on it. I ran it through a scanner and some kind of serial number came up. I googled it and found it was linked to the FBI. The actual FBI. In America. What the hell is this thing, Mulder? It’s almost as if someone was using it to…track him. Is he a spy? How well do you know him?”  
Mulder wrapped his hand around his dick. Her voice filled his every fibre. He started a slow pump as she called his name.  
“Mulder!” It was a little shriller than her orgasm scream. That one was low and breathy.  
His heart thudded to his feet with her next line. “I need your help!”  
The ute skidded up her driveway sending the galahs skittering away. He bashed through her door and yelled.  
“SCUUUUUULLLLLLAAAAAAAYYYYYY!”  
Nothing. Her phone was on the bench. Her handbag open on the stool. Radio blaring out Best Beer Songs. He headed towards the bedroom. Her bed was neatly turned down and a sheer negligee was draped over the edge. The en-suite was empty but the smell of her apple shampoo hung in the air.  
“SCUUUUUULLLLLLAAAAAAAYYYYYY!”  
He pelted out into the yard. The brown grass was a neat circle bounded by bottle brushes and banksias and kangaroo grass. A magpie warbled.  
“SCUUUUUULLLLLLAAAAAAAYYYYYY!”  
“She’s up in the roof, ya fucken bastard.” An akubra poked over the fence, followed by a grizzled face. “You’ve woken up the whole fucken neighbourhood with yer yellin. All the fucken dogs are barking now too.”  
“Mulder?” Scully stepped into the yard, power drill in hand, hair mussed.  
The neighbour let out a chesty cough. “Good lookin Sheila. I’d be as keen as you if I thought I was in with a chance of a root. Always liked a ranga. Carpet match the drapes?”  
Scully crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Mr Spender, if you would like to know if my pubic hair matches the hair on my head, all you had to do was ask. I am a medical doctor. A physicist. A forensic pathologist, and,” she said, holding up the drill, “pretty fucking handy with a power tool. I am perfectly capable of dealing with crusty old pervs who ask inappropriate questions. And if you want my medical opinion, you need to get a chest x-ray as soon as possible. Your heavy smoking has probably reduced your lung capacity to pre-cancerous stages. And it will kill you.”  
Mulder chuckled. Women with power tools, red hair, smart mouths, quick brains, multiple degrees and supple eye-brows had always been a kink for him. Tinder had proven a complete waste of time with matches. But the gods of good fortune had sent him this fantasy woman, right to Shytt Creek. It was like a bad movie. This stuff just didn’t happen in real life.  
“That’s if someone doesn’t shoot you or tip you down the stairs in a wheelchair or shoot you in the face with a rocket launcher first.”  
He sat in her kitchen sculling cold beer. She sipped on a Sav Blanc and sweat beaded in the V of her cleavage. He wanted to lick it off. But the beer was going down too well for now.  
“So what did you need my help for?”  
“The fridge turned off and all my TimTams were melting. It was an emergency.”  
He slammed the bottle on the table. Even his Tinder profile said that his women mustn’t store their chocolate in the fridge. What the fuck? Who even was this woman? She was his soulmate but she was selling him out.  
“Scully! I can’t believe you’d do that?”  
She chugged her wine and refilled the glass. “Do what? Fix the fucking fridge on my own? I might be just a woman to some, but my father brought me up to be self-sufficient. I can fix a fridge. I can change a tyre, I’d even be able to scratch my balls and fart at the same time. If I had them.” She laughed.  
He blinked. She didn’t get it. It was sacrilege. “But Scully…TimTams don’t belong in the fridge. It’s just not right…” The beer didn’t taste as good anymore.  
There was a fierce pink tinge forming on her cheeks. Her nipples stood out. “Why is that you get to decide what’s right and what’s not? Is it because you’re the big macho man? Is it because you expect people to fall under your spell? You might be the best jackeroo in Shytt Creek, but you’re not God, Mulder. You’re an arsehole sometimes, did you know that?”  
He rushed towards her and grabbed her shoulders. She threw her head back and he sucked on the creamy column of her neck as she wrapped a leg around his waist. He ground against her, humping and thrusting.  
“Oh, you’re an animal,” she said. “Pull my hair, Mulder. Fuck…”  
He twined her Titian locks around her fingers and yanked until she screamed. “Mulder, it’s me.”  
“I know,” he said, pulling back.  
“I don’t know why I said that,” she breathed out, through trembling lips. “It just seemed right. Quick. My panties are drenched and I need you inside me. Now.”  
“I want to show you something first,” he said, heading to her fridge.  
“No more beer, Mulder. You’ve had a skinful already.”  
She was throwing her clothes across the floor until she was completely naked. He found what he was looking for and pulled out the packet.  
“Salted Caramel, Scully?”  
“What?” She was lying on the bench, legs apart, displaying her throbbing wetness for him.  
“You’ve only got Salted Caramel TimTams?”  
She sat up. “You want chocolate or you want me, Mulder? Take your pick or get out.”  
“But this is always better with the original. But we can improvise.”  
Smiling, she ran a finger down her slit and said, “I love it when we break the rules. Now, come on big boy, I need a root.”  
He took out a biscuit and licked it until the chocolate melted a little. He gave her a lick then ran it down her chest, around each nipple, then trailed it own her stomach until he reached her hot spot. He slipped it inside and she squirmed and gasped.  
“Jesus, Mulder.”  
“There is nothing like the taste of a TimTam. And there’s nothing like the taste of you. Eating both together and I’m going to be shooting my load like a paintball gun.”  
She pushed his head down. “Shut up, Mulder. The TimTam’s melting.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the Heat of the Bush](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151517) by [IDontWannaWrestle (Little_Baby_Bats)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Baby_Bats/pseuds/IDontWannaWrestle)




End file.
